


The Story of Ifrit

by ixieko, Licoriceallsorts



Series: FFVII Folk Tales [19]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, FFVII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Folklore, Origin Story, Original Characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 10:12:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5623570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ixieko/pseuds/ixieko, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Licoriceallsorts/pseuds/Licoriceallsorts





	The Story of Ifrit

 

In the long ago days when animals could talk, a bull fell in love with a goblin maiden, and they wedded and made their home in a cave on the side of a volcano. First one son was born to them, and he liked nothing more than to wrestle; and then another son was born to them, and he liked best to hammer and make noise; and then the youngest was born, and all he wanted was to spend his days sleeping by the warm hearth in his mother's kitchen.

A day came when the bull-father died, and his wife and sons ate him, to show their respect, but his horns they hung up over the hearth in the kitchen, next to their grandfather's goblin hammer. And after a little more time had passed, the eldest brother said, "Mother, give me my father's horns, for I want to go out into the world to see what it is made of."

"Go, then, ungrateful wretch," cried the goblin mother, and she picked up a clod of earth and threw it at him, and it struck him on the mouth, and by accident he swallowed it. Nothing dismayed, he took his father's horns and left the cave, and wandered the world until he came to a sea of grass that stretched away on every side as far as the eye could see. "This is a good place," he said to himself. "I will stay here." And he became the first of the Dual Horns, and if you ever stumble across him, he will try to toss you with his horns.

Now the second brother said, "Mother, give me my grandfather's goblin hammer, for I want to go out into the world to see what it is made of."

"Be off with you, heartless child," cried the goblin mother, and she threw a lump of iron at him; but having seen how she had treated his elder brother, he was ready, and he caught the lump of iron and tucked it up his sleeve; and then he took the hammer and left the cave, and wandered until he came upon some Cetra, who were turning the soil with a wooden hoe. "I can do better than that," he thought, and he asked the Cetra to bring him an anvil and light him a fire, and he took the lump of iron from his sleeve and heated it in the fire and beat it into a ploughshare with his goblin hammer, and when the Cetra saw that it was good, they asked him to live with them. And so he became the first blacksmith.

And if you ever find a golden materia strong enough to knock down a Dual Horn, you will know it is the blacksmith's memory of beating his anvil with his hammer, for every younger brother wishes to knock down his elder.

But the youngest son, whose name was Ifrit, was content to dream his life away curled up beside the warm hearth in his mother's house. "Lazybones," she berated him, "Will you not also go out to seek your fortune, as a man should do?"

"Mother, I am afraid you will throw something at me."  

"You idle good-for-nothing!" cried his mother, and she snatched up a coal and threw it at him, but he was ready, and caught it and tucked it up his sleeve, and then he too left home, for his mother's temper was too hot for him.

He wandered in the world for a while, until at last he came across a hut in the middle of the woods. "Oh," he said, "I am footsore, and I am hungry, and I am tired. Let me rest here a little while." He knocked on the door, but there was no answer, so he lifted the latch, and finding it unlocked, went in and looked around.

What did he see? A bunch of golden chocobo feathers, hanging from the rafters. A black and white cat, sitting on the windowsill. A mirror, that showed a person's dreams instead of his reflection, leaning against the wall between the windows. A wise man would have known from these things that the hut belonged to a mage, but Ifrit, who was as ignorant as he was lazy, paid them no mind.

In the middle of the hut there was a table covered with a snow-white cloth, on which was set a loaf of bread, a wheel of cheese and pitcher of mead. "I will just help myself to a little," he thought, but his greed was as great as his thirst, and little by little he ate it all up. Now he yawned and stretched, saying, "That good feast has made me sleepy." In the corner of the hut was a four-poster bed with an epiornis-down quilt and silken curtains. Ifrit laid himself down, and soon he was fast asleep.

While he was sleeping, the mage returned from his travels. Approaching his hut, he saw that the front door was ajar and said to himself, "Oho, something is amiss." When the cait sith heard his voice, she ran outside and said, "Master, a stranger has come and eaten your dinner, and drunk your mead, and now he is sleeping is your bed." "We'll see about that," said the mage, and he went inside and shook Ifrit's foot to awaken him.

"You have helped yourself to my hospitality," said the mage. "Now you must pay for it."

"But I have no money," said Ifrit, turning out his pockets.

"Then you must serve me for seven moons, and then we will see."

"I have nothing better to do," Ifrit replied.

At first the work was easy and pleasant, and the food plentiful, and the days warm and sunny. But then the wind changed, and the leaves turned from green to gold, and the grass was frosty in the morning. "What is happening?" Ifrit cried. "Is the world dying?"

The mage laughed. "Winter is coming, and when winter is over, spring will come again."

"Is it always like this?"

"Always."

"I do not like it," said Ifrit. "I do not like the cold and dark."

"Then make sure you don't let the fire go out."

One day the mage said, "I must cross the valley to visit my brother. While I am gone, keep the cat fed, and the floor swept, and the fire burning." The mage put on his snow-shoes and set out, and Ifrit swept the floor, and fed the cat, but before he chopped wood for the fire he lay down for a nap, and while he was asleep a blizzard came out of the north, and the wind howled down the chimney and put the fire out. Ifrit's teeth chattered in his sleep and woke him. He looked out at the blizzard and said to himself, "If I go outside I will be lost in the storm." So he chopped up the three-legged stool that sat next to the hearth, and took his mother's hot coal from his sleeve, and started the fire.

"It's not warm enough," he thought. "I need more wood." So he chopped up the bench and table and put that on the fire, but still the wind rattled the windowpanes and a cold draught came under the door.

"It's still not warm enough," he thought. So he chopped up the mage's four-poster bed and put that on the fire, and the flames blazed up and danced merrily, and Ifrit was satisfied. But now he was tired from all the chopping, and since there was not a stick of furniture left in the hut, he curled himself into a ball on the hearthrug and fell asleep, and while he was sleeping sparks from the great bonfire he had made of his master's furniture flew up the chimney and landed in the roof-thatch.

Then the cait sith, seeing the danger, called out for Ifrit to awaken and run for his life, but she could not rouse him; and then she scratched Ifrit on the cheek, but still could not rouse him; and so the cait sith slipped through the window and ran across to the valley to call its master, for a fey cat can outspeed the wind when it is so minded.

When the mage and his cat returned, the hut was entirely burned to the ground; nothing remained but soot and cinders - and Ifrit, curled up in ball among the ashes, snoring like a hive of bees. For Ifrit, you may remember, was born in the heart of a volcano, and a house burning down around his ears was nothing more than a comfortable glow to him.

"You wretched creature," cried the mage in a fury, "Since you are so fond of sleeping, I curse you to sleep curled up in that ball forever, unless someone calls you forth to cast their fire." And he sealed his curse with a spell, _ardoris, carbonis, deflagrationis_ , and after that, you know, there was no undoing it.

But if you ever find Ifrit's materia, and wake him up, and call him forth, he will cast your fire for you, and fight your enemies too, because at heart he is an honest servant, although a lazy one.

 

_Mu Nuu, my tale is ended._

_The Tonberry has put out his light,_

_And got into bed_

_And said good-night._

_Good night, good night, good night._

 


End file.
